A Broken Man
by sleepystoryteller
Summary: Takes place after Felina, the series finale. Jesse Pinkman's story of redemption, punishment, consequences, and humanity.
1. Chapter 1

_The box was so perfect, so showing of his daylong labor. He lifted the supple wood up and took a deep breath, its deep, musky scent filling his nostrils. Tools lay scattered around him in the dimly lit studio. The second on the clock slowly ticked back towards the twelve, and nine o'clock dawned upon him. He smiled, knowing that he could do at least one thing right. Knowing that he was not completely worthless. And this box was proof. _

He screamed at the top of his lungs, breathing in the free air. Tears upon tears poured down his cheeks as he let loose deep sobs of happiness. Happiness that he had convinced himself would never come. Happiness that had seemed impossible to gain back after five months down in the pit. His foot pressed down on the accelerator as he shot through the black night. He didn't stop to look back. He didn't spare a thought for the man who lay back at the headquarters, most likely dead. He just flew.

Hours- or was it minutes? - went by, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that he needed to get away from this godforsaken town, state, country, world. There was nothing left for him here. But there was something emerging, some light shedding on his poor and tortured soul as he drove, drove away from the life he once knew.

He had no money. He had no phone. He had no one. What he did have was fingerprints, fingerprints all over the lab he had just fled from. What he did have was a face full of scars, reminders of the days that would haunt him for the rest of his life. What he did have were eyes that had seen too much, hands that had done sickening deeds. But he swore to God that despite all this, things were going to change. He was going to become a new man.

The car engine sputtered, as the old thing couldn't take the intense speed that he had been forcing upon it. He slowed down gradually, pulling to the side of the road. There must've been a few good miles between him and the police now.

He sat still for a moment, staring into the blackness ahead of him. Who was he kidding? There was no plausible way that he could pull this off. He would get caught. He would go to jail. He would serve the time and accept the consequences of all those things, all those things he caused in the past two years. All those deaths, all those lives ruined, all the lies, all the cheats, all the groveling, and all the pain.

Jesse Pinkman was a broken man, and a broken man cannot run forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle looked at the dead body, sprawled out like an eagle on the cold lab floor. _Heisenberg_. For the past five months, the entire nation was in a stir looking for him, and then all of the sudden, he's back. Here. Dead. And as Kyle inches closer, he notices the smallest hint of satisfaction on the dead man's features. _Bastard_.

"Hey, boss, lookie here." Kyle, still not used to being called boss, walked outside of the lab towards the voice. His team had been at this site for almost twenty minutes now, and everything seemed to be examined. Heisenberg was found, roughly six men lay dead inside, and a M60 swung round and round in the back of a car. Eventful enough for one night.

"What've you got for me, Smith?" Kyle spoke as he approached the pit that Smith and Lancaster were investigating.

"Well, there seems to be dried blood all around here, but its not that old," Lancaster started. Kyle furrowed his eyebrows. Who was kept down here? There was a small mattress, but nothing else filled the makeshift prison. "Oh, hey, boss, we also found this." Lancaster handed him a photo as they climbed out of the pit. Kyle looked at it closely, figuring it was a woman and her child. Was the man down here her husband?

"Jordan!" Kyle barked. "How are those finger prints in the lab coming along?"

James Jordan, a skinny, pale fellow looked up. "Almost got some results, Boss, should be done soon."

"And who's on perimeter duty?" His team looked around at each other, hoping one of others had an answer. Hopeless bastards. "Well, _let's go_. Someone get on it. McKinnon, you go. Take Smith with you. Check the restaurants, gas stations, cars, anywhere. Don't know exactly what you're lookin' for, but report anything suspicious. But I think everyone involved in this little fight here is dead." His two men nodded and departed. He sighed deeply, wishing that those motherfuckers hadn't murdered Schrader.

Jordan walked back, with a rather weird expression on his face. "So, boss, remember that sleazy Pinkman kid who was wanted a few months ago but flew off the radar?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"His fingerprints are all over the place."

"Jesus Christ. Try and find out whose blood is down there in the cellar." Kyle squinted his eyes and saw Sanchez waving at him from the clubhouse. He ran into the house and immediately saw Pinkman up on the big screen, talking straight to a camera. He listened for a few seconds, long enough to realize that this evidence could be the most incriminating thing that his team had found tonight.

Kyle grabbed his phone and dialed McKinnon.

"Pinkman. Find Pinkman."


	3. Chapter 3

The room was gray and sterile, exactly what Jesse had been expecting. It wasn't the first time he had been here. He sat alone, handcuffed to the chair, and knew that there was no way out of this. He would go to prison. And there, he would probably be murdered. Or raped. Or both. All he knew was that he deserved every last bit of it. What was the point in going out trying if the world was intent on crushing him anyways?

Two men came in and sat across from him at the table. He thanked god that they weren't those two jerkoffs who had interrogated him twice before- he wouldn't have been able to deal with their shit. He looked up at the bigger man and eyed his badge. Probably the head or something.

"Jesse Pinkman," the larger one began. "I'm ASAC Mitchell. And this is Agent Smith. Do you know why you're here?"

Jesse looked down at his filthy hands. He knew exactly why he was here. Emilio. Krazy-8. Combo. Jane. Gale. Gus. Drew Sharpe. Mike. Andrea. And many, many more, even Todd, although that sociopath deserved it.

"You're here," the agent sighed. "Because you've obviously been at the scene of the crime where Heisenberg and many more men where shot dead. Don't deny it."

He didn't.

"Lucky for you, we've gone more in depth with this than we usually do, and your blood is all over that cellar, and its age ranges from just a few days ago to over five months ago."

Jesse knew better than to get his hopes up because there was still so much-

"And then we found this DVD of you."

Exactly.

"Let's take a look at it, shall we?"

The other guy, Smith went over to the tiny television and popped the disc into the player. Jesse saw his own face staring back it him, and he wished he could go back to that moment all those months ago. He wish he could have just walked off and accepted Saul's offer. Head to Alaska. What did the ricin cigarette matter now- he couldn't even avenge Brock properly. Because Andrea was dead. All because of Jesse.

TV Jesse began to talk about Gale, and Jesse felt a lump rise in his throat. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He couldn't control them anymore- not after Gale.

What kind of a person had he become? The kind that would coldly murder someone without a second's hesitation. Yes, Todd had it coming, but Jesse wouldn't have done that before all of this. It just wasn't who he was.

But it is who he is now.

The video went through every thing else, every other painful moment that he just wanted to run from. The tears never stopped rolling. He knew that the agents had noticed, but he didn't care. Everything, everything that he had done, all for Mr. White, the great Heisenberg, was breaking through. Drew Sharpe was mentioned, and Jesse let out a silent sob. An innocent kid, an innocent kid who just wanted to ride his dirt bike. Mike came next. Mike was gone. Gone forever. And then, Brock. The ricin. How Mr. White had used Jesse from the beginning. But strangely, Jesse was numbed. He didn't feel the anger that usually rose inside him. The time for hating Mr. White was done. It was time to accept everything that had happened and place the blame on himself, not on anyone else. The video came to a close and Jesse buried his face in his hands, finally letting out the sobs that had been trying to work their way out ever since Gale was mentioned. And he cried, cried for the dead, cried for the living, cried for himself. His worst days, the days of hell with Todd and the nazis and watching Andrea die, weren't even mentioned.


End file.
